***

You gave me a book
of Russian poetry
to keep me warm at night

Yesenin whispered to me
when you were far away
lost in the mists
of the city lights

and I danced alone like Isadora

It rests on the edge
of my bedside table
like a thing with a soul
alive
while Pushkin
weaves his shadow fingers
through my hair

Sometimes I put a weight on it
- a white ceramic angel
to keep it  closed

to keep it from fluttering
its paper wings

Sometimes I remember
how you read to me
how you kissed
the rhymes
with your lips
and your fingertips

and in the darkness
you played that long dead music

And I remember how
I leaned on you shoulder
and saw the world
through mismatched eyes

And I won't ever let you take
those words away from me

they are still mine
even if you are not